


Something To Protect

by StormyDaze



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: F/M, Incest, Mpreg, Robot Mom/Adopted Human Adult Child Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2020-01-25 15:44:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18577534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StormyDaze/pseuds/StormyDaze
Summary: Diego isn't sure why he's been gaining weight.





	Something To Protect

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RedRumRaver](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedRumRaver/gifts).



> A late treat appears! Because I too was disappointed that I didn't finish The Umbrella Academy in time to nominate "Mom impregnates Diego."

Diego isn't sure why he's been gaining weight.

Sure, he’s eating a lot. Mom has been going all out preparing food for him, insisting he eat second helpings at every meal. "You're growing, sweetie," she says.

"Pretty sure I stopped growing years ago, Mom,” Diego says, but he eats what she puts in front of him. Mom's still a little confused at times, and anyway, he _is_ hungry. Ravenous, even.

And then he comes down with some sort of stomach flu and can't keep anything down. Mom makes him chicken soup and ginger tea and pets his hair while he pukes over a toilet. She's humming a lullaby she used to sing for him when he was little. He hasn't heard it in years, but it makes him feel safe.

He's surprised when he pulls on a pair of pants and can’t get them buttoned, but he guesses Mom’s food outweighs the stomach flu and shrugs it off. He ups his workouts and starts skipping the bread and potatoes at dinner.

When he feels something move inside him, he freaks out. None of his siblings are home. If something's medically wrong with him, Dad would be able to fix it, but Dad's not here either. But Mom hears his shout and finds him on his bed, shirtless, poking at his stomach and hyperventilating.

"Mom, there's something inside me, it _moved_ , and- "

“Oh," Mom says, smiling. "Is the baby kicking?"

Everything freezes.

They haven't talked about that night, when Diego was so shocked and happy to see her alive that he kissed her. He meant to kiss her cheek, like he did so often when he was a kid, but then she turned her head and then she was kissing him back. She felt real, no different from any of the girls or boys Diego had kissed before. Her hands wandered up his shirt and it felt right, it felt _normal,_ and he’d never admit that he wanted this but she washed away all that shame. 

After that, it was kind of a blur of skin and tongues and fingers. (Dad had… definitely gone all out on the anatomical accuracy, and every reason Diego can come up with for that is more disturbing than the last.) When Diego woke up, Mom was gone. He found her making breakfast in the kitchen, like always, and since she didn’t mention it, he didn’t either. Honestly, up until now, he’d kind of wondered if he’d dreamed it.

“B-ba-b-baby?” Diego sputters. 

Mom places her hand on his stomach. Now that he really looks, there’s a noticeable bulge there, whereas he doesn’t seem to have gained weight anywhere else. “I think it’s going to be a girl,” she says.

Diego does not ask how she knows. Words are piling up in his throat and choking him and spots dance in front of his vision and he loses track of time for a while. When he comes back to himself, Mom is sitting next to him on the bed, rubbing his back and humming that lullaby. 

Maybe she’ll sing it to the baby.

Diego takes a few deep breaths and pictures the word in his mind and manages to choke out, “Why?”

“You need something to protect,” she says. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ll be here to help you with everything. You just let your mother take care of you, all right?” She pulls him into a hug and he lays his head on her chest and tries to figure out what the hell he’s supposed to do about this.

Mom, it turns out, has opinions on how pregnant people should be taken care of. The cooking gets weirder; now she wants him to eat things like kale smoothies and sunflower seed muffins, along with handfuls of prenatal vitamins. She monitors his workouts, insisting that he not overtax himself. He even wakes up a few times to find her in his room, watching him sleep, which is _damn creepy_ and he eventually starts locking his door.

After a couple of months of this, Diego thinks he might be losing his mind. He’d never imagined pregnancy would be fun, but it sucks even more than he’d expected. His back is sore, his feet are sore, he can’t even see his own dick anymore, and Mom will hardly let him leave the house because “it’s not safe for the baby.” The list of things Mom thinks aren’t safe for the baby is long and varied, ranging from kickboxing (potentially understandable) to parsley (what?). She has approved television watching, as long as it’s not too loud or violent (so basically, nothing fun.) Right now he’s unreasonably invested in a tv show where rich people buy horrible houses and redecorate them to sell. Its a sign of how his much his life has gone downhill recently. Mom sits next to him on the couch, knitting her approximately thousandth pair of baby booties. Diego wants to ask how many babies she’s expecting, exactly, if they’re going to need that many clothes, but he’s kind of afraid to.

He’s basically resigned himself to being a scientific anomaly. It seems to run in the family. He’s still not sure how he’s going to tell the rest of his siblings, but considering they’ve been busy with world-saving and everything, he’s hoping he can just show them the baby when it’s born and skip the how. He’s pretty glad none of them have come home since he started showing. And not even a little bit resentful that they haven’t checked up on him. Nope. Not like he’d expect overcoming horrific trauma to prevent the apocalypse would bring them closer together or anything.

When the doorbell rings, Diego all but springs to his feet to answer it, and then promptly overbalances and nearly faceplants onto the floor. Mom frowns, probably about to expound on the negative effects of doorbells on unborn children. Diego weighs the idea of someone else seeing him like this with the possibility of being able to talk to someone about something other than interior decorating and is down the hall before she can get a word in.

It’s Klaus, lounging on the porch. His ratty black t-shirt is stretched tight over a round stomach even bigger than Diego’s.

“Forgot my key,” he says. He looks Diego up and down. “You too, huh?” He pushes past Diego into the house before Diego can formulate a reply.

Diego thunks his forehead against the doorframe. At least his life is never boring.


End file.
